


Do These Tacos Taste Funny To You?

by Kerkerian



Series: Whumptober 2020 [6]
Category: MacGyver (TV 2016)
Genre: Angst, Cuddling, Fluff and Humor, Gen, Hospital, Hurt/Comfort, Mac Whump, Papa Jack, Platonic Bed Sharing, Poisoning, Team as Family, Whumptober 2020, emotional Jack whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-21
Updated: 2020-10-21
Packaged: 2021-03-09 02:22:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,848
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27136573
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kerkerian/pseuds/Kerkerian
Summary: Whumptober prompt day 22: Do These Tacos Taste Funny To You? (poisoned/drugged/withdrawal)
Relationships: Jack Dalton/Angus MacGyver (MacGyver TV 2016)
Series: Whumptober 2020 [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1952242
Comments: 8
Kudos: 99
Collections: Whumptober 2020





	Do These Tacos Taste Funny To You?

**Author's Note:**

> Sadly, I don't own MacGyver.

It was a hell of a mission, even though it started out innocuously enough, and it seems like a small miracle that they're finally safe in the Phoenix jet and on their way home from Serbia.

Jack has just dozed off when he hears Mac all but jump to his feet. He opens his eyes to see the kid bolt into the small bathroom, which doesn't bode well.

Mac has been pale and quiet ever since they were back on the plane, but Jack put it down to his exhaustion; he's already checked his -admittedly unwilling- partner for injuries (because he's learned from previous experience not to take Mac's innocent expression and chipper smile for face value), but didn't find anything graver than a number of bruises and scratches. The usual.

When Mac doesn't reappear after ten minutes, Jack gets up too and knocks on the door: “You okay in there, buddy?”

The answer's a faint groan. “Yeah,” Mac then says, sounding tremulous. “I'll be fine. Gimme a minute.”

Jack returns to his seat. When Mac leaves the bathroom a short while later, he is pale and has both arms wrapped around his torso. He eases himself into his seat with measured movements, effectively betraying his earlier statement.

“Not looking fine to me,” Jack accordingly remarks.

Mac tries to glare at him, but instead, he freezes, then his hand flies to his mouth, and he quickly sprints back to the bathroom, all caution forgotten. This time, because the door hasn't even fully closed, Jack can hear distinctive retching sounds.

Frowning, he follows his friend, waiting until the bout seems over. Mac flushes, but stays where he is. Jack can only see his feet: “Mac?” he says again.

Mac's feet shift ever so slightly, then the door opens further. Mac, who is sitting on the floor hunched in on himself looks up at Jack with a resigned expression: “Help me up?” he says, his voice much feebler than before. His eyes are bloodshot, his face ashen.

“Course, buddy,” Jack says gently, crouching down so he can take his friend's weight as he gets both of them to their feet.

Mac is shaking, and Jack is a little alarmed when he notices that he can barely stand, as opposed to earlier. He is swaying on the spot like a drunken person, and Jack grabs him more firmly, pulling Mac's arm around his shoulders to keep him more or less upright.

He steers Mac towards the couch and eases both of them onto it, careful to keep Mac upright to avoid vertigo. He leans against Jack as if all his remaining energy has left him. He's still trembling, and now Jack notices a fine sheen of sweat which he's certain wasn't there before.

“You still feeling nauseous?” he asks.

Mac blinks, then, strangely, extends one hand as if to touch the armrest of the couch; he misses it though, and frowns.

“I'm seeing double,” he mutters.

“What?”

“Ambiopia,” Mac adds. “Don't know what's causing it.” He shivers violently, then goes alarmingly limp in Jack's hold, eyes rolling back in his head.

“Mac?”

When he doesn't react, Jack reaches for his phone with one hand and dials HQ, demanding to be put through to Director Webber at once, at the same time trying to rouse his partner: “Come on, hoss, talk to me! Mac?”

“What is it, Jack?” Matty seems impatient. “I'm currently on the phone with the Serbian secretary of state-”

“Something's wrong,” Jack says, not even caring that he's interrupting her or whatever important phone call, “Mac's sick, and I think it's serious.”

For a moment, Matty seems taken aback. “Sick how?”

“He's suddenly been throwing up, and then he was all shaky and said he's seeing double, and now he's out cold.”

He's not looking at the phone because Mac's shaking again, worse than before, but he can hear Matty's sharp intake of breath: “I'll put you through to Medical.”

Jack only nods, his attention on his kid: “Mac! Hey, Mac, can you hear me?” He rubs his knuckles on Mac's sternum, which finally gets a response: Mac groans and blinks.

“Mac,” Jack tries again, “you with me now, hoss?”

Mac groans again: “Sick,” he mutters, then he arches forward and throws up once more, only narrowly missing the couch. Jack holds him tightly to make sure he doesn't topple over. When nothing more is coming up, Mac sags, swallowing a few times; he's shaking and shivering. Jack pulls him close, relieved when he finally hears a voice in his comm: “Agent Dalton? This is Dr. Sinderby.”

“J'ck,” Mac manages to get out. “Need... to lie down.”

“Of course,” Jack says, trembling as well as he helps Mac to stretch out on the couch, trying not to step into the mess on the floor.

“Describe to me what's happening and how it started,” the doctor says, and Jack does, telling him everything that transpired within the past... well, ten minutes.

He keeps one hand on Mac's shoulder, the other gently strokes through his boy's hair, needing the reassurance as much as Mac does. Though Mac's eyes are closed again, and he doesn't respond to Jack's questions anymore; the shaking has subsided somewhat, but he's still shivering.

Jack covers him with a blanket, then he checks Mac's pupils on Dr. Sinderby's orders, looks for rashes and other indicators and takes his pulse, reporting everything back mechanically, his eyes never leaving the kid.

“It could be some kind of poisoning,” Dr. Sinderby says; he's been taking notes and is now frowning down on them. “The symptoms of which are varied, depending on the type of poison.”

“What do I do?” Jack is panicked.

There's a pause. “I'm afraid there isn't anything you can do. I'd advise you to land as soon as possible in order to get Agent MacGyver to a hospital for treatment. Until then, monitor his breathing and make sure he's comfortable. If he seizes, try to memorize for how long.”

“Okay,” Jack mutters, feeling near tears. “Okay.”

The pilot is already changing course on Matty's orders and shortly afterwards informs Jack that they'll be landing at Zürich Airport soon.

Jack stays at Mac's side, feeling terribly helpless. They've already begun their ascent when Mac starts to gasp. His face has lost all colour, and for a second there, Jack thinks he's in pain, but then it looks as if he's struggling to get air into his lungs. His eyes fly open and widen with every laborious breath.

This goes on for maybe half a minute, but to Jack, it's an eternity. As soon as it began, it stops again, and Mac just lies there, supine and depleted, his breathing still audibly strained.

“Get him upright, Dalton,” Dr. Sinderby says urgently; Jack flinches, having momentarily forgotten about him.

“Hey, hey, look at me, darlin',” Jack says, his voice tremulous with badly concealed terror. “Look at me. Can you sit up?”

Mac can't even lift his hand. “Don't... think so,” he manages to get out, unaware that his voice is little more than a breeze. His eyes are glazed and he just looks ill.

“Okay,” Jack says, trying to stay calm. “I'll lift you up, okay? It'll be easier to breathe.”

Mac doesn't reply, but his gaze is fixed on Jack trustingly.

“You'll be alright,” Jack mutters. “And we'll be landing soon.”

Right then, Matty tells him that a chopper will be meeting them at the airstrip. “They'll take you straight to the hospital,” she says, refraining from asking how Mac is doing because she's been listening in and can imagine that Jack doesn't want to make any unnecessary small talk right now; his focus is entirely on the kid, as it should be.

Jack is trembling as he pushes his hand underneath Mac's neck, slides one arm under his shoulders and cradles him close to his own body until he's got his partner safely in his grip, which isn't easy because Mac is limp and unable to help.

With slow, careful motions, Jack props Mac up; his eyes are closed again, his head rolls heavily against Jack's jaw, and the latter doesn't know if Mac's still conscious; he should talk to him, try to keep him focused, but his own voice doesn't seem to work all of a sudden, and his throat is choked with panic.

For as long as he's known and worked with Mac, he's never seen him like this, despite everything they've been through over the years.

When the plane touches down, he braces himself and reinforces his hold; as soon as they stop rolling, the door opens and two EMTs come in. Letting go of Mac is the hardest thing Jack has ever had to do, or so it feels, and once his boy has been loaded onto a board for transport, he keeps as close to him as he can.

In the hospital, Jack isn't allowed to stay with Mac while he's being assessed, and that in itself feels like he's failing the kid.

Jack is pacing around the waiting room for a while, brimming with nervous energy. In between, his phone rings: it's Matty and the team, wanting to know if there are any news.

“No, nothing yet,” Jack says, and his voice is thin. “They said they were gonna do some blood tests. I'm gonna let you know, okay?”

“Okay.” Matty sounds sympathetic. “Hang in there, Jack.”

“Tryin',” Jack mutters, and he doesn't have a choice, after all. Still- seeing Mac's condition deteriorating so quickly was excruciating, and he's scared that the doctors won't be able to help his partner in time. Whatever it is that's causing Mac's symptoms seems vile and effective.

At one point, Jack does sit down; he can feel his own tiredness creeping up on him, but he doesn't heed it. He needs to stay alert.

When someone finally comes to talk to him, he's lost all sense of time. The physician, who introduces himself as Dr. Zwingli, seems very competent. He explains to Jack how they have indeed found a fast-acting poison in Mac's blood, which they are still analyzing in order to find the correct antidote.

“We're meanwhile treating the symptoms,” the doctor says. “Since his lungs are effected to the point where he intermittently stopped breathing during triage, he's now on a ventilator.”

Jack briefly closes his eyes; it sounds like a nightmare already. “You don't know what kind of poison it is?” he asks weakly.

“So far, the symptoms point to some kind of venom, but he haven't found a match in any of the available data bases yet.”

It doesn't sound promising.

Jack runs a hand over his face: “Can I see him?”

The doctor regards him with sympathy: “At this point, I'm afraid we can't allow any visitors.”

“He needs me,” Jack says, unaware how desperate he sounds.

“Mr. MacGyver is unconscious,” Dr. Zwingli says gently. “And due to his critical state, the staff needs unhindered access at all times.”

Trembling, Jack nods; he gets it, of course he does. But what if... he can't even bring himself to think it. What if it gets to the worst and he won't be there?

“I can't leave him alone,” he whispers, because his voice is not obeying him right now.

“He's in good hands,” the doctor says. “And we'll keep you up to speed on every development.”

“Thanks.” Jack wipes his eyes. “But doc- if it's getting worse-” His throat is so tight that he can't continue for a moment. “If you think he's... please, come and get me. He can't be alone. Please.”

“Of course.” The doctor gives him a commiserative smile and turns to go.

Jack is shaking.

“You hear that, Matty?” he asks, because he didn't turn off his comm earlier.

“Yes,” she says softly. “I'm sorry, Jack. I don't think there's anything I can do about it.”

“It's alright,” Jack replies, even though it's not.

“Riley, Bozer,” Matty says once they've actually turned off the comms. “I'll get in touch with the hospital and have them list every single symptom. You have access to a lot more data than they do; maybe we'll be able to help after all.

Also, we got to dig deeper where it concerns our arms dealer and his associates: maybe there's a red flag there somewhere. And I'm currently having a team at that factory site, they're going through everything with a fine-toothed comb as we speak.”

Riley says. “I'm already on it.”

Bozer nods: “Me too.”

Jack feels like he's going mad. He's been waiting for hours, hovering close to the entrance to the ICU. He's tired and hungry, but he can't sit down, can't take a break when Mac's in there fighting for his life.

At one point, Jack also can't take it any longer and goes in. At the nurses' station, he pleads with the head nurse: “I just wanna see him, please!”

“Fine,” she eventually concedes. “Not for long though, and you'll have to wash up and put on protective clothing first.”

Jack's knees turn into jelly from sheer relief. He puts on everything the nurse hands him, including a scrub cap. He doesn't care if it means he's going to see his boy.

“Be aware that the sight of someone on life support may be unsettling,” the nurse says. Jack nods, refraining from telling her that this is not the first time he'll have seen Mac like that. Which doesn't make it easier though, and he can't stop his eyes from tearing up when he enters the cubicle his partner is in.

Mac looks frail and too still altogether, too helpless.

Tentatively, Jack reaches for his hand, which also seems too cool.

“Hey, darlin',” he mutters tenderly, barely getting the words out because he's so choked now. “We'll get you through this. I wasn't allowed in until now and I can't stay, but I'm here and close by, okay?”

He runs gentle fingers through Mac's hair. “I'm here,” he repeats, and then the nurse already asks him to leave again.

“How's it looking?” Jack asks her as he returns the protective clothing.

“The longer it takes to find an antidote, the more likely it is that his organs will be permanently damaged or stop functioning altogether,” she says, evidently not happy about this either.

“Okay... Thanks.” Jack nods at her and leaves, walking out on autopilot.

In the hallway, he leans against the wall; then, because he just can't seem to stay on his feet any longer, he just slides down and remains there, terrified.

It's way past midnight when his phone buzzes: it's Matty.

“Jack,” she says at once, “we've got something! I need to speak with someone in charge!”

And really, Riley and Bozer have found valuable information: one of the arms dealer's former associates has been convicted for illegal animal trade, and among the types of snakes he was dealing with were a few rare and highly venomous species. It took a while to even find any information on the composition of their venom, but what little they found matched Mac's symptoms.

They've also searched for possible antidotes, but it seems that those can only be synthesized using the victim's blood.

The data is conveyed to the lab; Matty has already made sure that they're treating this as a priority.

It might still be too late, Jack thinks desperately; Mac's condition is deteriorating, he's been having seizures and a dramatic drop in his vital functions, according to the doctor; another one this time, and he's conceded to letting Jack stay, once they've stabilized Mac. The sudden readiness to make this exception is almost worse than all the waiting.

Having put on a layer of protective clothing once more, Jack takes up position next to Mac's bed, as close to his head as possible. As before, his hand gently strokes over the kid's hair. It seems surreal, all of it. Yesterday, Mac and he were joking around on the plane, were making plans for Christmas, which is in about ten days, were looking forward to a few days off.

Now, all Jack can think about is that he won't celebrate anything ever again if Mac doesn't survive this. That Mac shouldn't be the one lying here. He still doesn't know exactly what happened, though. The new doctor told him that they've found a puncture wound on Mac's thigh, but Jack is too tired to determine whether that's strange or not.

They split up for a short time, which he never likes, but which wasn't avoidable this time. And they both encountered hostiles during that brief spell as it were; it must have happened then, but how could it happen without Mac noticing? He'll have to ask him.

With a pang, he subdues a sob: if he'll be able to. The notion that he might never even talk to his kid ever again is more than he can bear.

“I love you, hoss,” he whispers, unable to check the tears which are running down his face now. “I'm proud of you. And I wish I could have spared you all this.”

It takes the lab five hours to synthesize an antidote, and the doctor in charge tells Jack in unmistakable terms that there's no guarantee it's going to work. Mac is only hanging on by a thread by now, so Jack can't even speak. He just steps back and lets the staff do their work, watching as they administer three different injections into one of the IV lines.

And then there's more waiting. One of the nurses keeps tabs, coming to check on Mac every five minutes or so, while Jack just stands there, his gaze fixed on Mac's still face. Several times during the early hours of the morning, before the doctor and a lab technician came in with the antidote, Jack was startled by sudden alarms, and his heart dropped into his stomach every time.

He felt numb, stepping aside to make space for the nurse that came running, hating that he had to let go of Mac then and full of fear that this time, his body was shutting down. Mac's face was as impassive as it is now, as if the battle that was going on didn't concern him, as if he wasn't in danger of losing the fight any time soon.

So Jack stands transfixed once more, waiting and hoping and praying to whichever deities might hear him, that the antidote will work.

After what feels like an eternity but has probably only been half an hour, the nurse gives Jack a tentative smile: “His blood pressure is improving.”

Jack stares at her, speechless. For a moment, he thinks his knees will give out. Instead, he grips the bed railing a little faster and resumes stroking Mac's hair: “That's my boy,” he mutters softly, fresh tears welling up in his eyes. “You can do it, baby. Don't give up now. You're strong, hoss. You got this.”

And Mac does. Slowly and subtly, his vitals keep improving. By midday, he's being taken off the ventilator, which Jack is grateful for, because it's awful to have to wake up with that thing still in one's throat, as he knows from his own experience. Mac has yet to wake up though.

In the meantime, no one has tried to send Jack out anymore, except during morning care and other occasions that called for privacy. Apart from that, he's been at Mac's side constantly.

One of the nurses took pity on him and brought him a cup of coffee and some sandwiches, another one brought him one of those bar stool thingies the doctors sometimes sit on during treatment; there's no room for a comfortable chair, but Jack is grateful for small mercies. He didn't notice how his back was killing him before he sat down.

His eyes feel gritty with fatigue, and he knows that if he lay down, he'd be asleep even before his head hit the pillow. He still can't, though. Not until Mac is out of the woods. So he stays, one hand around Mac's, the other in his hair, sometimes talking to him, sometimes only looking at him.

It's late in the afternoon when Mac finally starts coming around. The first time, he only opens his eyes very briefly, but his pupils react to the doctor's pen light as they should. The fifth time that he wakes up, and Jack has counted every single one, he doesn't immediately drop off again. Jack leans forward once the nurse has stepped back: “Hey, bud,” he says softly. “Time you woke up.”

Mac's gaze focuses on Jack, blue eyes looking at him exhaustedly from under heavy lids. He doesn't even try to speak, but he clearly recognizes his partner, judging from the way his expression lights up ever so subtly when he sees him.

“You're gonna be alright,” Jack says, relief making him tremble as he hears his own words. He reaches up nevertheless, his hand finding Mac's hair just like the now countless times before, and gently strokes over it again, the motion ingrained in his muscle memory: “You were poisoned. We're still a little unclear as to how, but that's not important now.

The important thing is that we got you through it. You're probably really tired now because your body was at battle stations for more than 24 hours. So you rest now. I might find a place to catch up on some sleep too, but I won't be far away. I'll be close by, okay? I love you, kiddo.”

Jack smiles tenderly, unaware how frazzled he appears after long hours of anguish and keeping vigil. Mac looks at him until his eyes close again.

Once he's sure that Mac's asleep, Jack takes out his phone and calls the Phoenix. Matty, Riley and Bozer are all there, anxiously waiting for news, and they shout with relief when Jack tells them the latest developments.

After the call, Jack reluctantly leaves Mac's side. He doesn't want to, but he can't keep himself upright any longer. He tells the nurses where to find him, then he goes to lie down on the couch in the nearest waiting room. Within seconds, he's asleep.

“I can carry my own bag.”

“No, no, you're not carrying _any_ thing.”

“Jack-”

“You heard the man.”

“Wh- you too, Boze?”

“Yeah, that's right. Jack and I are a united front.”

Exasperated, Mac looks from them to Riley, who only raises her eyebrows: “Don't look at me, I'm with them.”

“Guys- I'm okay. I get it that you're worried, but there's really no need.” Mac follows his friends into the house.

Jack folds his arms and looks him over with a stern expression, which unintendedly softens as he watches how slowly Mac is walking and how pale and drawn he still is, despite his assurances.

The whole episode has really taken it out of him, and even though he tries to deny it, he's still recovering, even has to take some meds to help getting everything back on track. And that's _after_ spending five days at the Swiss hospital. So they should probably count it as a victory that Mac's walking under his own steam at all; the first few times the nurses made him get up, he couldn't even get his legs under him.

He closes the door behind him and looks around before his gaze meets Jack's, who's still regarding him.

“What?” he asks.

“Nothing.” Jack shrugs. “Just glad we're here.”

And Mac gets it. Jack was with him the whole time, and for maybe half a day or so, he actually had to consider the very real possibility of losing Mac right there and then.

He looked worn and sleep-deprived when Mac woke up, and from the way he was close to tears back then and how dreadful he, Mac, felt, he could put two and two together how close a shave it had been, once again.

And now Jack looks at him with a mixture of affection and worry and relief and a little bit of doubt, all rolled into one, a soft expression on his face. As if he isn't sure that this is real, if it's safe to count his blessings.

Mac therefore steps up to him: “Me too,” he says softly, and then he wraps his arms around his partner.

Who, after a moment of comprehension, returns the embrace.

Neither of them bothers with manly back-clapping this time, they just hold on to one another for as long as it takes to let the knowledge that the nightmare is really over and they actually are home seep in.

“Thank you for staying with me,” Mac eventually mutters. They pull back and look at each other, a small, bashful smile playing around Mac's mouth. “I was really glad to have you there.”

It was scary, waking up in such a state, and having a friendly face and someone to literally hold on to was the only thing that kept Mac from panicking.

Though the ambiopia was gone, fortunately, his entire body felt sore and heavy, and he didn't immediately recall what had happened or why he was in a hospital. Considering how his throat felt, it seemed like he had been intubated, which never bode well.

If not for Jack's firm grip, and it was unmistakably his, he'd not have been able to stay calm.

Jack smiles as well: “Anytime, kid,” he replies softly. “I'll always be there for you, you know that, right?”

“Yeah.” Mac blushes a little; he still isn't taking anything for granted when it comes to the people who care about him.

“Though I gotta say, this time it was mostly for selfish reasons,” Jack quips. His eyes are serious as he says it though; it'll take a while for him to shake off the echo of the dread that's still there.

“So... are you planning on going home tonight?” Mac's tone is carefully light, but he's not deceiving Jack.

Who pretends to consider the matter: “Nah,” he then says. “I think I'mma stay over, I'm really looking forward to a nice beer. Or three.” He grins.

The truth is wild horses wouldn't be able to drag him away from his boy today or any time soon. Not while Mac still looks as though a mild breeze might knock him over. Also, it's very reassuring to be close to him, to be able to make sure he's okay at all times.

Mac looks relieved: “'kay.”

That evening, once Matty has joined them, they eat out on the deck even though it's only about 53 degrees. Mac says he needs some air after being inside for so long, and Jack agrees, though he's the one who casually drapes a blanket around Mac's shoulders after getting another round of drinks.

Mac only smiles softly at that; there's no point in pretending that he's annoyed by Jack's mother henning, because a) everyone else is doing it too at the moment, and b) he isn't. There are times when Jack's overprotectiveness can be a bit much, but right now, it's what he needs.

Eventually, Mac falls asleep in one of the deckchairs, and they don't wake him up, seeing as he's got some recovering to do. Jack just makes sure he's warm enough and has a pillow beneath his head, then he returns to the fire pit.

“Think Mac's gonna be okay?” Riley asks softly.

“Yeah.” Jack glances at the kid. “He's made of sterner stuff than you'd think.”

“Hear, hear,” Matty says, affection audible in her tone, and raises her bottle: “To the stern stuff.”

They all drink to that.

Once Matty and Riley have left and Jack and Bozer have carried the bottles and leftovers inside, Jack crouches down in front of Mac, gently running the back of two fingers over his cheek: “Hey, kiddo, party's over.”

Mac snuffles, his face working before he blinks. He looks impossibly young as his gaze lands on his partner now.

“Come on,” Jack gets up and extends one hand. “Time to go to bed.”

“The others gone?”

“Yeah. It's late.”

“Huh.” Bemused, Mac lets Jack pull him to his feet. He doesn't immediately let go of Jack's hand afterwards but holds him back: “You can sleep in my bed,” he mutters, yawning. “'s big enough. Better than the couch.”

“'kay.” Jack follows him inside.

“Oh yeah, this _is_ nice,” Jack says once they've crawled under the covers, burrowing into the blankets. “Spring mattress?”

“Cold foam,” Mac murmurs, turning onto his side and doing the same.

After a moment, Jack reaches over and rests one hand against Mac's back.

“Try to spoon me and I'll kick,” Mac warns him drowsily.

“Noted,” Jack mutters, but he doesn't remove his hand, and Mac doesn't roll away from it, because this is doing both of their bruised souls good and will hopefully ward off any nightmares.

“Sleep well, darlin'.”

“G'night, big guy.”

It doesn't take long for them to fall asleep.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! I'm not a Native Speaker, therefore I apologize for any mistakes.
> 
> Also, despite quite a lot of research, this is probably wildly medically inacurate. Then again, so is the show most of the time...


End file.
